


halfway

by ayselz



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA what the hecky, but still, historical inaccuracies maybe, i take creative license, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 00:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13845810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayselz/pseuds/ayselz
Summary: “Instead, she huffs. ‘Good thing you did not fight me that day. I would rather shoot myself repeatedly on the head than fight you.’”





	halfway

“I’ll meet you halfway.”

It’s a promise, forged on an unattained future, on broken dreams of two people who only wanted to be together; something far-fetched, wishful thinking, their fates thrust onto the mercy of the stars and the higher cosmic powers.

Personifications of nations were doomed not to fall in battle. Raina knew this, with everything around her in chaos, blood running in tiny rivulets under her body and around her, corpses of allies and enemies alike scattered onto the wide expanse of flat plain. Blood is like water, Raina thought, soon enough, this barren plain will be a field of wildflowers. One for each fallen soldier, and she wished that it should be enough.

The smell of tiny clusters of daisies—not the dizzying metallic tang of blood—was what she inhaled, sweet and homely, as she closed her eyes. Her grip on her spear slowly loosened, so did the grip of her consciousness on her.

***

“You were having another nightmare,” is what Tino whispers, his face pinched with worry, illuminated only by the faint orange glow of the bedside lamp. His arm hovers protectively over her midsection, as if he’s seconds away to shaking her demons away by sheer force.

Raina allows herself to relax, a little. “I dreamt of it again, the war.” There’s a soft rustling of sheets, and then she’s suddenly pulled flush against him, her cheek pressed to his chest. Like hers, his heart is a thundering thing. “I died alone.” It was the one wherein they had fought together the first time—and the last.

The war—in her dreams—has always ended with them falling together, perfectly in sync and skilled fighters they were, their weaknesses always found a way to be exploited. “Someone hurled a spear at you, and I had to push you out of the way.”

His lips brush against her hair as he speaks. “You know, I never really understand why you dream of it that way.” He then pauses, and Raina knows this as his indication of choosing his next words carefully. “That was the first and only war we fought in together, and we weren’t even in love, then.”

She wonders why, all the same, but chooses not to answer. Tendrils of sweet slumber coax her into submission, and she willingly goes. Within Tino’s arms, the nightmares don’t plague her.

“I’ll catch the goddamned spear for you next time, I promise,” he says, and Raina only half-hears it.

***

In retrospect, Tino already had caught the spear aimed at her.

A civil war was something which wrecked a personification from the inside. A beast residing in the deepest, darkest crevices of their being, it clawed and tore them apart—this was how others justified Raina’s actions during the War of Independence, although she never accepted this. For her, what decisions she had made during that time were hers and hers alone, another demon to carry on her back, all blood of her people she had spilt ghosts who’d walk behind her as she lived into eternity.

She had allied herself with Ludwig. The lesser evil, she had thought, her mind whirring, frenzied, hungry for liberation, I will never be Krievijā’s bitch again, if I can help it. Raimonds had tried talking her out of it, but she wouldn’t budge.

“See you on the other side, then,” he had spat at her, eyes filled with disgust, because his dearest sister, the only ally he had treasured, the fierce brunette who had fought with him against the Germans themselves back in the days of the Crusades, was now allying herself with the enemy. “I don’t know you anymore, Raina.”

She bore these words, along with her sister Sofijā’s look of hatred—she would never forgive her, it seemed, not in a hundred centuries or so—and her brother Raivis’ tears.

Raina only wanted to be free.

Freedom for her beloved fatherland was what she had in mind as she faced Arthur’s troops, mercilessly firing at the soldiers—shells of perennial souls, unfortunate to meet Raina when she was at her most broken, at her most desperate—and it was the same freedom she was envisioning when everything calmed down. The relentless firing earlier had dissipated, and she stood amidst corpses and smoke and bullets.

She wiped her cheek; her palm came off bloody.

He had emerged from the smoke, then, in a tarnished white uniform. Prior to this, she had last seen him during the declaration of his autonomy from Russia. She didn’t understand why he had to come. This is my war, she thought, and what came next terrified her, Please don’t tell me that you’re here to fight me. I will never—

“Raina,” he said softly, halting to a stop a few paces in front of her. “Until when are you going to fight your own people?”

(She defected from the Baltische Landeswehr the day after.)

***

She watches him flip pancakes, at the same time wondering how in the world did this happen—how did they manage to have this, this wonderful setting, how did she deserve having this?

“You fought for Latvijā during the War of Independence.” He almost misses catching the pancake back into the pan, and Raina has to stifle a giggle at that.

“Yes, I did,” he says simply, easing back into the languid process of cooking their breakfast. “I consider Küllo as a brother, and if he fights or you and your brothers, then I will follow suit. I mean... not necessarily you, of course, but...”

She nods once. “That is not the only reason,” she points out, because Raina knows Tino, and she knows it whenever he’s not saying something.

He stops, very briefly, and the tips of his ears turn red. How endearing it is, that he still feels embarrassed around her. “I received your note. ‘I’ll meet you halfway; wait for my liberation.’” Now that the truth’s out in the open, he stumbles over the next words. “I was never more sure of anything, the moment I read those words. I knew you felt the same way, and I—”

“Could not wait any longer,” she finishes for him.

He turns around to face her, pouting a little. “You made me wait for centuries, Raina.”

As if she doesn’t know this. Chuckling, she walks to stand by his side, peering over his shoulder to check on the pancakes. Knowing him, his mind’s racing and he’s only half-focused on the poor pieces of breakfast.

“I could not let you share my burden then,” she says softly. “And do not even try to argue with me on this, because I know you. You will fight my wars for me if it comes down to it, and I did not want that. I did not even want you to get involved in that foolish civil war, but—”

“I made that choice, though.” Tino turns the stove off, seemingly too distracted to even care about the now half-burned breakfast. He wordlessly pulled her into a tight embrace. He continued, softer, “For you, I think I’ll always make that choice.”

And that is exactly what I do not want you doing, she almost says, but doing so will only ruin the moment, and Raina doesn’t want to. Being crushed by Tino’s version of a bear hug is her guilty pleasure, although she isn’t prone to admitting that any time soon.

Instead, she huffs. “Good thing you did not fight me that day. I would rather shoot myself repeatedly on the head than fight you.”

***

The weirdest thing to ask for in the midst of a war is pen and paper.

“What are you using it for?” her general barked at her angrily, because she was wasting time, and she was badly needed back at her post.

Her pupils were blown wide with frenzy. “I need to write to someone,” she said, enunciating her words slowly, as if was speaking from underwater. “And I will make it quick.”

This was her most desperate hour.

(This was days before she defected; this was when British forces were frustrating her to no end.)

The general gave her a once-over, and, after what seemed like an eternity, handed her a pencil and a loose page of paper. She took it quickly, hands shaking, and she wrote on it right upon the nearest flat surface she encountered.

‘I'll meet you halfway; wait for my liberation.’

Finally, a promise she could keep.

**Author's Note:**

> I TOLD YOU THIS IS A MESS.


End file.
